


Phantom Pain

by chali



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [6]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt Shiro (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Shiro (Voltron) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 12:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17060204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chali/pseuds/chali
Summary: Shiro experiences phantom pain, and tries to hide it from the team, not wanting to worry them. Unfortunately for him, the team is far more perceptive than he gives them credit for.





	Phantom Pain

**Author's Note:**

> I've hit a bit of a slump, but I actually had this almost finished about two weeks ago. Then Ao3 deleted my draft, because I'm too dense to actually pay attention to the warnings they give you about how long you can have a draft saved without posting it. My bad.
> 
> Beware of my complete lack of knowledge regarding phantom pain symptoms and treatment.

Shiro grunted as a knee connected with his poorly protected stomach, and struggled to get a firm hold on the alien in front of him. Through the rushing in his ears he could hear the crowds roaring, eager for blood. Eager for  _death_.

Shiro hated himself as he gave it to them.

Securing his grip on his opponent’s hair with his flesh hand, he powered up his Galra arm and brought it across their unprotected throat. Blood splattered across Shiro's face, his chest. His hands were dripping with it. His prosthetic felt as though it was burning. He dropped the alien, gurgling and twitching, to the ground.

The arena exploded with noise as those observing them cheered and roared and clapped and stamped their feet. Shiro looked at the dead body in front of him - the stranger who had probably wanted to be there no more than Shiro himself, the stranger whom he had just murdered for nothing more than the entertainment of these  _Galra_  - and began to turn away, bile burning the back of his throat, but then -

Shiro looked back again without thinking - then he couldn't look away. He started shaking. He could feel his chest tighten, could feel his breath getting caught in his lungs and trapped there. Everything else faded - the arena, the Galra, everything.

He looked at the body in front of him, and he saw - it was -

 _Keith_.

He blinked, and it was -

Hunk. 

Pidge. 

Matt.

Lance. 

Allura. 

Coran.

Himself. 

He realised he was screaming. He could  _feel_  how loudly he was screaming, could feel the force of it in his stomach - but all he could hear was the cheering. The damn  _cheering. He shook his head wildly, unable to tear his eyes away from the body, which had settled on his own form._

Slowly, eyes still wide and glazed, throat still torn open and blood still gushing out, the thing began to rise. Shiro couldn't move. Even as the thing approached him, its own arm glowing, Shiro couldn't move. 

He could only scream, and watch as the glowing arm descended towards his own throat -

He screamed - and the noise of it echoed through his room, bouncing back at him off the walls, startling him so much that he nearly fell off the bed. He bit his lip as another cry tried to escape, and forced himself to calm, to take in the situation.

 _I'm - in bed. At the Castle_ , he reassured himself. _It was a dream. It was just a dream_.

Shiro repeated it to himself over and over as he tried to control his laboured breathing. A sharp pain travelled up his right arm into his shoulder, and he winced.

"Dammit," he whispered hoarsely, as he gingerly climbed out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. "Dammit, dammit,  _dammit_..."

Shiro turned on the light, squinting his eyes against the brightness, and looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. He looked almost as exhausted as he felt, with deep bags under bloodshot eyes, pale face damp with sweat and tears.

His arm twinged again, and he gripped it tightly at the area where flesh met metal. He turned on the shower, making the water almost too hot to touch, and peeled off his sweat-soiled pajamas to step under it.

He sighed as the hot water ran over his skin, and turned so that more fell onto his aching arm. He slid down the wall until he was sitting under the shower head. The hot water helped dull the ache in his shoulder somewhat, though the burning sensation in his arm refused to fade.

 _This doesn't make any damn sense_ , Shiro thought to himself angrily as he kneaded at his arm.  _It isn't even there anymore. There's nothing left of me there to feel anything._

He couldn't feel the pressure of his own fingers massaging the prosthetic, couldn't feel the near scalding heat of the water as it hit against the metal. But he could still feel the  _pain_.

Pain as though his arm was still flesh and blood. Pain as though white hot needles were being pierced through the length of it over and over and over again.

Shiro had, of course, heard of 'phantom pain' back on Earth. However, it had always been just that. Just something that he'd 'heard of', not something he'd live through.

 _How did it come to this?_  He wondered, not for the first time.

Shiro sat there for a long while, the pain in his arm and his circling thoughts wearing him out more than any battle had ever seemed to. Finally, he turned off the shower, and, pulling his pajama bottoms back on, made his way back to bed.

He shivered slightly as the cooler air hit his warm skin, and wrapped the duvet around himself as tightly as he could in an attempt to preserve the lingering heat from the shower. 

He groaned softly, and cursed his arm bitterly, and didn't sleep at all for the rest of the long night.

* * *

Early the next morning Shiro was sitting at the kitchen table, bent almost double over a cup of what Pidge had fittingly deemed 'space-coffee'. His arm was still pulsing with pain, and his head was pounding from clenching his teeth so tightly.

He had been sitting for almost an hour by the time Hunk shuffled in, hair damp from a shower and eyes still puffy from sleep. He froze when he spotted Shiro at the table. 

"Oh," he said eloquently, moving to sit across from him. "Morning. You been up long?"

"Morning," Shiro replied, smiling wanly. "No, not really," he lied, "about a half hour, at most." Hunk looked at him closely, narrowing his eyes, before humming and rising to make a start on breakfast. Shiro got the impression he remained unconvinced. 

They didn't speak again until the rest of the team filed in together. They each greeted him tiredly, and filled their respective seats around the table. Keith sat across from him, and stared at him intently. Shiro met his eyes and attempted a reassuring smile. Keith only frowned. 

"What-" 

"Right, guys," Hunk appeared at the end of the table, seven steaming plates impressively balanced on his arms. "Breakfast is served." 

"God bless you, Hunk," Lance said as he received his plate, pouncing on it as though it was his first meal in days. Pidge began eating her portion without even opening her eyes.

Hunk placed Shiro's and Keith's in front of them, then moved to Coran and Allura. Shiro looked at the food in front of him, and tried to muster up an appetite around the tightly clenched muscles of his stomach. He scraped together a forkful of the goo and closed his mouth around it, fighting the urge to gag despite the pleasant taste.

 _God, I hate this feeling_ , he thought to himself bitterly. He forced another mouthful, and glanced up to find Keith now glaring at him, his own food untouched in front of him. Shiro met his gaze solidly.

"What's wrong?" Keith asked, quietly enough that the others weren't distracted from their own conversation. Shiro sighed, and tried not to look as if his stomach was rebelling against every bite he took. Or as if his arm felt like it was turning itself inside-out.

"Nothing is 'wrong', Keith," he said, equally as quiet. "I'm just tired. Didn't sleep well."

"How come?"

"No real reason," he looked away as Keith narrowed his eyes, not buying Shiro's lies for a second.  _Damn, these kids are sharp._  "Really, Keith," he said, looking down at the goo he was pushing around on his plate, "you don't need to worry about me." He quickly shoved one final spoonful into his mouth and rose from the table, taking his barely eaten breakfast to the space-fridge for later.

"Shiro?"

"Thanks for breakfast, Hunk," he said, turning to give the others a smile before leaving the kitchen, ignoring their questioning calls. He tried to forget the image of Keith's face - angry and hurt and concerned and just the smallest bit afraid.

 _This is for the best_ , he reminded himself.  _There's nothing any of them could do anyway, it's all in your head. There's no need to make them worry over something that's out of their control._

_This is for the best._

* * *

The others joined Shiro on the training deck a half-hour later, and Shiro shut down the bot he was fighting to listen to Allura explain the day's plan.

He only caught himself clutching his arm when he glanced at the other Paladins and found Keith staring at him again. He hastily dropped his hand back down to his side, then opted to fold his arms instead. Keith didn't take his eyes off of him until Allura asked him pointedly if he was listening.

They were split into groups - Shiro, Pidge and Keith were to practice their hand-to-hand, while Hunk and Lance practiced their shooting. As they moved to their separate areas in the room, Keith grabbed Shiro's flesh arm and held tightly. 

"Shiro," he pulled until Shiro was facing him, Pidge looking on curiously. "Are you okay? You - don't really look up for this." 

"I'm  _fine_ , Keith," Shiro said with sigh that he had wanted to come across as fondly exasperated, but instead came out sounding utterly exhausted. 

"Keith has a point, actually," Pidge said, moving closer and peering up at Shiro's face as though it was some kind of complicated computer program for her to figure out. "You look kinda pale. And you didn't eat much -" 

"I just didn't sleep well, so I didn't have much of an appetite. I'm fine -" 

"You've always told me to eat before training," Keith said, in a voice almost like a growl. " _Always_ , Shiro. So the same should apply to you, too."

"That isn't -" 

" _Paladins, is there a problem?_ " Allura's voice rang loudly from the observation deck, and they all jumped. Shiro pulled his arm out of Keith's grip and moved away to get into position. 

"Shiro's -" 

"Nothing is wrong, Princess," Shiro said loudly over Pidge, "Let's begin." 

Keith looked ready to argue, Pidge not far behind, but Shiro charged at them both and they didn't have time to start. 

It was... messy. On all their parts. Shiro was reluctant to use his prosthetic arm, as every movement sent more needles of pain shooting up into his shoulder. Pidge and Keith likewise seemed reluctant to come at Shiro properly, in spite of their irritation with him. 

But Shiro was, somehow, managing to hold it together. He blocked every blow they aimed at him, and even managed to get a couple of hits of his own in.

_I can do this. Just a couple of hours. You've fought real battles in far worse conditions._

It was as he thought this that a particularly sharp spike of pain shot through his arm, making him tense and tearing his focus away from Pidge - whose punch landed high on his cheek, snapping his head to the side and just about sending him sprawling. He fell to one knee with a small grunt, and bit his lip to keep any further noises from escaping as he rode out the wave of pain in his arm. 

" _Holy quiznack_! Shiro, I'm sorry!" Pidge knelt next to him, grabbing his face to see the damage. Shiro shook his head and tried to smile at her. 

"It's fine, Pidge. My fault. Wasn't focusing -" 

" _Bullshit_ ," they both turned to look at Keith where he stood behind them, fists clenched tightly at his side. Pidge frowned. 

"Keith, it was -" 

"Shiro, you don't just get distracted, you -  _you_  don't 'not focus' in a fight. We all know that.  _What's wrong?_ " Pidge had opened her mouth to argue, but closed it now and turned to Shiro again wearing a frown of her own. Shiro sighed, and decided to be honest with them. 

"It's - a headache," was what he said, surprising himself.  _It's not a complete lie_ , he reassured himself.  _Especially after that hit_. Pidge groaned, apparently thinking along the same line, and hung her head. 

"And I've just made it  _worse_ , haven't I?" Shiro laughed and wrapped his arm around her, and they both climbed to their feet. 

"Again, not your fault, Pidge. I'll be fine, it'll pass. Let's get back to it." 

"No," Pidge said, sounding as authoritative as Shiro in the middle of a battle, "you're sitting this next round out, Shiro. You look - pale. Like,  _really_  pale. You look kinda ill, actually. Plus I'm pretty sure I hit you so hard it might even leave a bruise." 

"But -" 

"No 'buts'. Sit on the bench. When you stop looking like you're about to pass out,  _then_  maybe you can join us again." Shiro glared at her, and she glared right back, and not for the first time he was reminded forcefully of Matt.

He sighed, and conceded defeat. He looked at Keith as he headed towards the bench. Keith looked back at him only briefly, something flashing through his eyes too fast for Shiro to follow, then he turned back to Pidge and they started again.

Shiro sat and buried his head in his hands, breathing deeply, trying to will the pain away. It didn't work, and he wasn't deemed fit enough to join in any of their other matches, instead spending the next few hours observing the fights and trying not to scream in frustration and pain. 

* * *

Shiro was so lost in thought, as he stood under another hot shower, that he didn't hear the knocks on his bedroom door. He didn't hear the door open, or his visitor enter his room until they knocked on his bathroom door instead, startling him. 

"Hey, Shiro?"  _Keith_. "You okay in there?" Shiro sighed and pressed his flesh fingers tightly against his eyes. 

"Yeah, Keith, I'll be right out."

Keith didn't respond, and Shiro quickly turned off the shower and pulled on the pajamas he had left by the sink. He started towelling his hair dry and left the bathroom to find Keith sitting on the edge of his bed, hands clasped tightly in front of him. 

Shiro felt guilt eat at him as he took in the state of the younger man.

Keith may come across as stoic and aloof to most people, but somehow, Shiro had always been able to pick up on the subtle nuances of his behaviour and body language that revealed how he really felt. He had always been able to tell when something made Keith angry or afraid or surprised or happy. It was that familiarity - and perhaps that alone - that now allowed Shiro to see how truly worried, how  _scared_ , Keith was, as he sat there in front of him. 

"Keith..." 

Keith tried to meet Shiro's eyes, but the second their gazes connected he swallowed audibly and looked away again. He was wringing his gloved hands, a nervous habit that Shiro had taken a mental note of very early in their relationship. Keith took a slightly shuddering breath, and spoke in an uncharacteristically small voice. 

"If - if it really is just a headache, then fine, but - just - please,  _please_  don't lie to me, Shiro." He looked up with those intense eyes, shining with fear and concern and hurt and anger. Shiro pressed his lips together tightly.

"Just -  _tell_  me," Keith pressed on, "that this isn't - i-is this about...  _that_?" It took Shiro barely a second to catch on to what Keith meant, and then the guilt that had been lying heavily in his stomach rose to squeeze at his chest. 

" _No_ ," he said, more harshly than he had intended, if Keith's miniscule recoil was anything to go by. Shiro knelt in front of him and took him by the shoulders. He waited until Keith met his eyes, and held his gaze solidly. "Keith, I promise. This has nothing to do with that." 

Keith stared at him for a moment, then blinked rapidly and looked away, cheeks colouring slightly. He nodded, and Shiro sighed.

"But it - it isn't just a headache either..." Keith raised an eyebrow at Shiro's quiet confession, prompting him to continue. "It's - the arm. The prosthetic arm. Well, I mean - it's complicated."

"Is it malfunctioning? Should we get Pidge to have a look at it?" 

"No, no. I, uh, I think it's mostly psychosomatic, to be honest. You know, phantom pain? There's nothing anyone can do, so I had just thought to deal with it on my own, until it passes, rather than -" 

"You know painkillers can sometimes help with that, though, right?" Shiro blinked at Keith, who looked at him as though he was doubting Shiro's intelligence. "You can get painkillers, or acupuncture. There  _are_  actually treatments that help with phantom pain, Shiro." 

"How - do you know?" Keith rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"Well, y'know, a year alone in the desert. I, uh, got bored. Read a lot. Took in a lot of pretty useless information," he looked at Shiro's arm. "Though I guess some of it wasn't quite so useless after all." Shiro hummed, and tried to quell the feelings of hope and relief building in his chest, not wanting to trust them before he could be certain. 

"Yeah... yeah, I guess it wasn't. I'll ask Coran for something in the morning." 

"I could go ask him now?" 

"No, no," Shiro said quickly, Keith sighed and Shiro squeezed his shoulders. "I'm just - I'm going to try to sleep. I'm pretty beat." 

"Yeah, I can tell."

Keith nodded and stood, moving towards the door. He paused, then turned and examined Shiro, who rose an eyebrow at the sudden scrutiny. Keith bit his lip.

"I can - do you want me to - stay? Tonight?" 

Shiro blinked at him, his eyes widening, and Keith hastily continued.

"I just, uh, if something happens during the night, if it gets worse or anything, I could be here to help, and stuff. I could go get Coran, or -" 

"Sure, Keith," Shiro smiled widely as Keith stuttered to a halt, "I'd appreciate that. If you don't mind." 

"N-no, not - okay, I'll uh - yeah, okay." 

Shiro lay back in his bed, sleep already pulling at him as the pain and stress of the day took its toll. He shifted over to the wall to allow Keith space to lie next to him.

Keith kicked off his boots and pulled off his gloves, placing them by the foot of the bed. He went to put his knife under the pillow, but caught himself and put it on the dresser by the wall instead. He crawled under the covers next to Shiro, who shook his head fondly. 

"Do you still not wear pajamas, Keith? I know Lance bought you some in that market a few weeks ago."

The small amount of light spilling into the room from the open bathroom door allowed Shiro to see Keith's blush, and he grinned. 

"Lance only bought those to make fun of me." 

"I really don't think he did, Keith. Have you not worn them yet?" Keith was silent for a moment. 

"I wore them once," he said quietly, as though it were a confession, "and hardly slept at all. I just felt - bare. Unprepared." Shiro hummed. He understood. 

"Okay," was all he said, and squeezed Keith's arm before turning to face the wall. He felt Keith shift slightly next to him, and within a few minutes Shiro fell asleep to the sound of Keith's steady breathing. 

* * *

Shiro squirmed and shouted as the alien on top of him fought for a grip on his throat. Shiro caught the thick wrists coming towards his face, and pushed them away with all the strength he could muster, his prosthetic giving him the extra burst of strength he needed.

With a roar and a final push, he managed to throw the alien off of him. Without missing a beat, Shiro followed. He straddled the alien's chest, and, faster than it could follow, closed his own hands around its throat. 

It beat at Shiro's arms, his sides, his face - Shiro held tight. He stared into the terrified bulging eyes, and  _god_ , he wished he could stop, but he couldn't. He  _couldn't_. He -

He blinked, and the face beneath him changed. 

Keith. 

Oh god,  _Keith_. 

Shiro tried to release his hold on Keith's throat. His flesh hand came away quickly, but the prosthetic hand - the  _Galra_  hand - wouldn't move. It  _wouldn't move._  It only squeezed Keith's throat tighter, only cut off his airway more forcefully, and Keith was crying, he was trying to say something, to beg Shiro to stop, and he tried to but he  _couldn't_  - 

A knee connected with his side, the hit hurting far more than it usually would through the light armour he was provided with - 

Everything was dark, he fell to side, and then fell  _down_  - 

He wasn't wearing armour. He was wearing pajamas. 

He wasn't in the arena. He was in his bedroom. 

_What's happening?_

He wasn't hearing the roaring of Galra spectators. He was hearing - 

"Oh, god. Oh,  _god_. K-Keith -" 

Keith had knocked Shiro off the bed, and was now coughing painfully into the crook of his elbow. Through the dim light from the bathroom Shiro could see his back convulsing with every cough, could see how tightly Keith was gripping the sheets with his free hand, could see how much he was shaking - 

"Keith -" Shiro scrambled to his feet, and climbed back onto the bed to kneel in front of the younger man. Keith reached out a hand towards him, and Shiro went to clasp it in his own - but Keith was pushing him back, not seeking him out. Shiro opened his mouth to question him - 

Then he saw Keith's neck. The delicate flesh of his neck, red and chafed and already darkening. Shiro remembered his dream. Remembered the feeling of Keith's throat beneath his hands - 

He just about fell off the bed again in his haste to get to the bathroom. He collapsed in front of the toilet and emptied his stomach. There was little to come up - he had barely eaten all day - but his body was rebelling against him. He couldn't stop, could barely take a breath between the heaves and the tightness in his chest and the sobs choking him - 

"Sh-Shiro," Shiro curled tighter over the toilet at the hoarse sound of Keith's voice. "Shiro - i-it's okay -  _Shiro_  -" He felt Keith's trembling hand on his shoulder, and flinched. Keith only rubbed his hand across Shiro's back, kneeling down next to him. 

"Keith," Shiro's voice was thick with tears and horror and guilt and pain, "Keith, I'm so - Christ, I'm so  _sorry_. I don't - I didn't - I should have warned you about that. It - it's the - the arm, it's been causing these - I should've -  _god_ , I'm sorry -" 

"'s not your fault, Shiro."

He risked a glance up at Keith, and wished he hadn't. Under the full glare of the light, the damage that he had inflicted on Keith's neck stood out harshly against his pale skin. The bruises were already appearing, unmistakably made by hands -  _Shiro's_  hands - and would only get darker with time. 

He looked away again, resting his head on the toilet seat as he felt his arm  _burn_ , almost as if to remind him that yes,  _he_  did this, it was him, with this arm, this arm that could crush stone to powder and bend steel as though it was paper and oh,  _god_ , he could have killed him. He almost  _killed_  his brother. Because of a damn  _nightmare_. 

"-iro, breathe! Please,  _please_ , just breathe! You - I'm fine, Shiro! It wasn't your fault, it was an accident -  _please_ , Shiro, calm down -" 

Shiro felt himself being pulled upright, Keith's arms tightening around his shoulders, his face burying itself in Shiro's neck. Shiro lifted his arms to push Keith away, because he was dangerous, he was out of control, he could  _kill_  him - and wrapped his arms tightly around Keith's chest. 

They clung to each other, kneeling on the floor of Shiro's bathroom, surrounded by the smell of sweat and vomit and tears and terror. It took a long time for Shiro to calm down enough to take a real breath, and a long time after that for him to stop crying. 

But he didn't stop shaking.  _Couldn't_  stop shaking. Keith held him, still shaking himself.

"It's okay, Shiro," the rasp in his voice almost brought more tears to Shiro's eyes. He shook his head, feeling Keith's hair brush along his ear. 

"It's not okay, Keith. That was -  _that_  was -" 

"That was  _trauma_ , Shiro. It wasn't -  _isn't_  - your fault. It's -" 

"I hurt you, Keith." 

"It was an accident, Shiro," Keith pulled back and looked Shiro in the eyes. "Remember that time, right after I first met you, when you put your hand on my shoulder, and I hadn't known you were there and I freaked out and almost broke your nose?" 

Shiro swallowed and nodded, already knowing where this was going. 

"I felt guilty about that for weeks.  _Months_ , even. But you weren't angry at all. You didn't blame me at all. Because you knew it was just - an instinct. You knew that it - it wasn't something I could control. Not then, anyway." Keith squeezed Shiro's shoulders tightly and shook him a little.

"Shiro, this is like that. It's not your fault, it's not something you can control. But - Shiro, you - you've helped me through  _so_  much. I don't know where I would be without you, let alone  _who_  I would be. You taught me that I don't have to do everything alone, that I can rely on you. And  _that_  - you have no idea how much that helped me. So please,  _please_  rely on me now. I - I don't know how much I'll actually be able to help, with the arm and all, but - but you can  _talk_  to me and, I don't know...  _anything_ , Shiro."

Shiro couldn't think of what to say. 

Keith coughed and looked to the side, his hands sliding off Shiro's shoulders, and Shiro realised he'd been staring silently at him since he'd stopped talking. He took a deep breath and sighed it out, and somehow found it in himself to smile. Keith had always had that effect on him. He carefully pulled him back in for another hug.

"Thank you, Keith," Keith exhaled shakily, returning the hug just as gently. "I know I don't say it, or even show it, enough, but you really have helped me just as much. You - you're so important to me, Keith. You're my  _brother_. I couldn't  _bear_  to hurt you again."

"But -"

"But I promise, I'll talk to you more. I'll - be honest with you. I thought I was protecting you, and the team, by keeping these things to myself, but - I was wrong. I - I need you. All of you. Thank you, Keith. Thank you for reminding me."

Keith nodded and sniffed, and neither of them commented on the renewed wetness on each other's shoulders. 

* * *

The next morning saw Shiro waking slowly, Keith still fast asleep next to him, one arm slung across his chest, the other under his pillow. His bruises had darkened horribly overnight, and Shiro tried not to think about how painful they must be.

He looked at them, and down at his still prickling prosthetic arm, and took a deep breath. 

"It wasn't my fault," he whispered into the silence. It didn't quite work, didn't quite alleviate the heavy weight on his chest. But it was a start. It was a start.

 

He and Keith made their way to the medbay, sneaking past the kitchen and calling in on Coran as they went. Coran blinked at the pair of them, as they no doubt appeared as rumpled and exhausted as they felt. His eyes widened at the bruises on Keith's neck, but Keith only shook his head. The advisor met his eyes, then Shiro's, then asked them solemnly how he could help.

If there was one person that Shiro knew he could count on for discretion, it was Coran.

Almost an hour later, Keith's bruises had faded considerably, courtesy of some utterly  _miraculous_  Altean ointment -  _seriously, had they been wizards?_  - and he was able to speak again without that painful rasping sound.

Coran had given Shiro some painkillers that he was sure would help with the symptoms in his arm, and told him to report their effect back to him regularly so that he could perfect the prescription. He had also suggested various kinds of physical therapy, that Shiro had promised to think about.

They had both thanked him profusely, and when the three of them had made it to breakfast, the others already finishing their's, they accepted the reprimands and complaints and ribbing with grace and good humour.

Shiro cleared his plate, then asked for seconds. His arm was still sore, and his chest still tight, but he found himself smiling, feeling lighter than he had in days. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it. Feedback is appreciated, and if you want to request another prompt for my Bad Things Happen Bingo, you can find my card on Tumblr (cha-lii)


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